


Sketchy

by Nny11



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: (it is VERY minor reference and has no details), Adora is a Beef Cake, Alternate Universe - Art Model, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Model Adora, Artist Catra, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Catra is a Hot Mess Per Usual, Crush at First Sight, Disaster Lesbians, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy, Happy Ending, Heavy profanity, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insulting Your Crush, Love at First Sight, Singing in a Car is a First Date Right?, Song Lyrics, heavy cursing, mild suicidal ideation because again it's Catra, no editing we die like meh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny11/pseuds/Nny11
Summary: She was still trapped halfway between sheer amazement at their model’s obliques and debating the merit of donating all of her art supplies to charity when the model (and Catra could’ve killed herself for not remembering her name) turned to face her direction, actually flexed her muscles, and made direct eye contact.What the hell? Was she not a good person? Who did not deserve to die of being too gay in a public space? Sure she’d been super creepy up to this point, but honestly wasn’t everyone a little creepy? It was like she could see inside Catra’s soul and the spark of playfulness in the mystery goddess’s steel blue eyes was both distressing and fantastic.Yikes dude.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 326





	Sketchy

Catra had never gotten comfortable with these figure drawing sessions. 

At first because she was a literal kid going to a space where there would be a naked adult and she was  **allowed** to stare as long as she was also working on her drawing. Okay, she’d been fifteen and had guardian permission, but still! It became awkward when she realized she was the only one there who didn’t at least present as a guy. She hesitated to say she was the only woman in the room, but it sure felt like it. Correction, the other woman in the room was a nude model with all these mostly elderly men, a handful of middle aged dudes, and her. Then the age difference made her nervous, which was hilarious since she’d been attending twice monthly for six years but all the sudden at twenty one she was worried about being too young.

God, fifteen year old her was  _ ballsy _ .

Of course fifteen year old her was also terrified and angry, and was planning on dying before she hit eighteen. Not that she’d wanted to kill herself back then, just that she was sure Weaver would lose control someday. Weaver allowed her to go and foster her “only talent” in the hopes that Catra would be recognized and make money to give her someday; so the art lessons and group sessions and the blur of competitions she never wanted to enter in the first place became common. She’d lost count of how many times she stood with a ribbon at the state fair in front of her mediocre submission, because her actual art wouldn’t have been accepted anyways. What little chump change she did win, twenty to fifty bucks here and there, was snatched up by her guardian to recoup the lessons. Supplies Catra either jacked from school or bought after she got a job, if she had money left over after paying Weaver her “rent”. 

Somehow, she still managed to love art.

After escaping Weaver’s grasp, although not by any attempts she’d made to get free, it had hurt her as much as it soothed her to keep coming to these sessions. She’d needed something steady and familiar after Weaver had moved away without any warning, leaving nothing but a note that she’d be evicted from their apartment in a few days and the memories from her debacle of a childhood.

Through her early twenties attending came with almost a sense of comfort or nostalgia. So of course many of the guys had apparently started to feel fatherly towards her kinda ruining it. Sort of. She appreciated the thought, not at the time of course, but remained as distant as she’d ever been. This did not, unfortunately, dissuade most of them from trying to pseudo-dad her. It was...well in retrospect it was kind of charming. Nowadays, the few who still attended doted on her, but that came in the form of grabbing her a beer on occasion and complimenting her art. Thank fuck they’d stopped trying to give her life advice or ask about romantic partners.

Again, not that there were many of them left. She was actually the longest attending member besides Samad, who owned the house they practiced at, and his husband who actually painted at each session.

It was rapidly approaching her twenty eighth birthday when she pulled up to the Al-Jamil’s house and decided this would be her last one. Over a decade of live figure drawing under her belt and she needed to find other ways to push herself. She’d already been going to parks and other places to watch people in motion, getting some more dynamic work done to help loosen her style up a bit more. What she probably needed to do was play with her sylte...or worse, still lifes. Catra shuddered at the thought. Still lifes with lots and lots of clothing. Fuck cloth, honestly, just fuck it. Still, she had a plan and she was going to stick with it for once.

So, of course, her plans had to go to shit immediately. 

The model was, per usual, a white girl. Blond hair and blue eyes as well, which always set her teeth on edge thanks to stupid Spiritaria being a bitch from the day she was born until the day Catra had punched her directly in the nose after graduation. But this woman  _ did _ have a jaw square enough to open a can with, and that was always going to be a plus. Catra still swanned past them to set up and pretended that she wasn’t sneaking glances. The woman had been chatting with a few of the men there, the large robe hiding her figure completely while Catra tried to look at her in any reflective surface because that’s what her life had been reduced to. Gross. Catra wished she could say she wasn’t already instantly crushing on her, but that would be a lie. So she’d pretended to be getting comfortable at her regular spot when the woman laughed; an awkwardly too loud thing with a snort and her head thrown all the way back. 

And of all the fucking things Catra could’ve fallen in love with, an obnoxious and weird laugh had not been on her radar. 

So she ignored the woman twice as hard to try and prove something to no one. You know. Like you do.

Although it had been doomed to fail. When they got started, she dropped her robe and Catra almost choked on her tongue. 

These sessions hadn’t felt sexually charged since she’d first started attending with her too long super fake acrylic nails and too much cucumber melon body spray trying to mask the depression stink. Back then, she had been too embarrassed to ask which isle the tampons were in, let alone anything that actually had to do with sex. Up to and including saying the names of human anatomy out loud. Fifteen year old her was ballsy but also pretty fucking uptight all things considered.

But this, this wasn’t because she was seeing a woman’s boobs for the first time, or realizing that she had the perfect angle for an ass shot. Oh no, that would’ve been easier. That would’ve made it simpler to brush off. 

Fucking hell!

Their model was  _ ripped _ . Like, just fucking shredded. Biceps almost as big as Catra’s head, back muscles that she was pretty sure could crack a walnut open, perfectly shaped legs that could definitely crush her head with no effort. She could probably bench press Catra’s skinny ass with one arm. 

Like, just, fucking-  **unfairly** hot. 

She struggled to keep her brain on art, the first several drawings were short gestural drawings to loosen them up so she didn’t feel too bad that they weren’t good, but they built in length until they could sit and focus for extended periods. She was good here so this would be fine, was the lie she’d told herself. Because they all sucked ass as her hands shook and her brain kept unhelpfully noticing new shadows where she didn’t even know muscles could exist. And that was with all the years of anatomy that she’d studied the human body. Catra was drawing, but god she was not focused. Patista, who Catra had long suspected had parents who wanted a baker for a son and had thought their name choice through to reflect that fully, worked standing up in his usual corner shaping his wire mesh sculptures. Moving at the same steady pace as always, shaping the wire around his tools and lethargically moving to the next piece when their model shifted. And, here’s the thing, the guy was damn good at that, you wouldn’t think he’d get any actual sculpting done but you’d be wrong. He captured the slant of her shoulder and tilt of her hips perfectly. Asshole! Like, could she buy one of those? Could she trade for them? He’d been a lovestruck mess with that girl a few months back and wouldn’t shut up about Catra’s sketches. Trading art of models they were suspiciously invested in was normal right?

Anytime someone or something wanted to take her out of the picture, preferably via gunshot to the face, Catra would be happy to go. 

Why was she _ like _ this?

She was still trapped halfway between sheer amazement at their model’s obliques and debating the merit of donating all of her art supplies to charity when the model (and Catra could’ve killed herself for not remembering her name) turned to face her direction, actually flexed her muscles, and made direct eye contact. 

What the  _ fuck _ ? Was she not a good person? Who did not deserve to die of being too gay in a  **public space** ? Sure she’d been super creepy up to this point, but honestly wasn’t everyone a little creepy? It was like she could see inside Catra’s soul and the spark of playfulness in the mystery goddess’s steel blue eyes was both distressing and fantastic.

Yikes dude.

Catra didn’t even do an actual figure sketch for this thirty minutes, focusing instead on her eyes and face. The intensity there, the way the sun almost made them look unnaturally blue. There was a very fucking rough block out for her body and pose, it just wasn’t important compared to her eyes. After that the woman twisted herself in a few unique poses which all had the benefit of letting them keep eye contact. On the last few cool down sketches she even smiled, like, directly at her. Like, maybe winked or maybe had something in her eye. Like, maybe sort of kinda looked like she wanted to come over and chat.

So as soon as they’d finished, as soon as the woman had started to put on her robe, Catra took the high road and fled. She even managed to drive for a while, only pulling over  **once** on the highway to scream a little in her car before putting on her turn signal and getting back in traffic. She turned on the radio, heard the first few bars and turned it off.

_ Don’t you want me baby? _

_ Don’t you want me, ohhh? _

God, everything was trying to kill her outright and she couldn’t even complain because it was the right thing to do. 

That night she spent thirty minutes sitting in the shower staring at the patch of what she really hoped wasn’t mold on the ceiling as she considered her fate. Passed tragically young, too dumb to stop looking at beautiful, mysterious women and drowned in her own bathtub. She stuck her face under the spray and turned the knob to cold. And regretted her choice instantly. Sitting in bed, teeth chattering and wrapped up in too many blankets for the summer, she could only hope to forget it and her and everything about the whole situation.

Two weeks later Catra hesitantly drove to the next session with a lump in her throat. 

She had not forgotten, in fact, she had done the opposite of that. Like, obsessed. Just a little lot.

Sometimes models would spend a few months straight showing up, sometimes they came back like Agni (it was Catra’s life goal to grow up being half as awesome as Agni who drank and smoked while they drew, told them hilarious and harrowing stories, and had once advised Catra that life was too short for bad alcohol and also to floss everyday, like, c’mon! Amazing!) who was irregular in schedule but well known. Sometimes they never came back at all. Catra whined to her steering wheel at the thought of not seeing her again, and then grabbed her kit. She was an idiot, the woman wouldn’t be back right? Hotshot like that was probably a gym rat or a sports buff who’d decided she was confident enough in her body to try it out for the money and would never come back again. So she was in the clear. Awesome.

“Hi,” the Literal Goddess on Earth said, smiling as she stood in the doorway to the backyard.

Catra, being a socially inept idiot and way too gay for this sort of treatment, had grumbled, “Move. You’re blocking the fucking door princess.”

She almost turned on her heels to leave, because really who fucking does that? Who says something like that? Pretty woman came and said hi to talk and make nice, and Catra had deepthroated her own foot far enough that she should really consider a career in porn. But instead she shouldered her way in and set up in her normal spot. And tried to ignore the intense gaze on her back. And failed miserably. Jesus! Fourth sketch in the woman definitely winked at her, and Catra, who had been taking a sip from her water bottle, actually literally choked. She accidentally sprayed the poor dude next to her although she didn’t care about that as much as the woman’s competitive smirk.

What a bitch!

Catra was sure she was falling in love.

She escaped just a few minutes early to drive a few blocks away to specifically scream-sing in her car and facetime anyone available. Specifically to plead with them. Again. Like you do.

Her so called “friends” were no help. Giving her advice like, “Talk to her” and “Tell her she has beautiful eyes” and “Apologize for being an asshole, what’s wrong with you” and the worst one “Just ask her to hang out sometime, the data says that always works”.

First of all, all of that was just rude and thoughtless of Catra’s need to be an insecure little bitch about  _ everything _ in her life. Fucking rude... 

It’s not a phase, it’s her identity okay?

Second of all, how dare they suggest it was as simple as opening her mouth and saying nice things? Catra still struggled to consistently say thank you and please half the time. She’d been publicly shamed by a five year old just a week ago for not holding onto the rail of the escalator and then not saying thank you for being told off about it. That’s the level she was working with. Gets shamed in public by toddlers twice in a row.

Third of all, she might not even show up again, and if she did Catra wouldn’t be able to talk to her because she  **still** didn’t know her name. Like god themself floated down to plug up her ears so Catra wouldn’t hear an angelic name and die from hemorrhaging out her eyes and nose. 

Not that she’d done great reading the bible cover to cover, but the true form of seraphim was something Entrapta had happily explained one night when Catra had taken way too big of a hit off their shared pipe to be in her right mind, that shit was terrifying! So really who was to say that wasn’t something that could happen to you?

It was probably a sign that she shouldn’t do anything stupid like daring to breathe in the Goddess’s general vicinity if she was there.

But the worst potential option was, what if she did show up and Catra wanted to maybe pre-date date like a goober?

“So?” Scorpia had shrugged as she flipped a blueberry pancake onto Catra’s plate, that she’s pretty sure was supposed to look like a smiley face, the morning of the last day of Catra’s  _ life _ . “Just ask her out, get a friend if nothing else! Just say you didn’t catch her name.”

And open herself up for questions in return? Hell no, no thank you, Catra was already surviving the mortifying ordeal of being known with people she had trusted long before she’d been vulnerable with them.

Perfect Goddess McMuscles was an unknown factor, and also could crush her head like a grape.

She wasn’t risking it.

Which was why the third time she went, Catra couldn’t even find a real excuse or reason to explain why she was there. She dragged ass inside, and for the first time ever was disappointed to see Agni in her typical tattered pink housecoat, smoldering cigarette in hand. The two did their usual hellos by flipping one another off and Catra set up. They had just about started when a late comer shuffled in and zipped to take the free seat next to her.

Catra was prepared to suffer the indignity of having her personal space bubble invaded, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the tardy party was clutching a brand new cheap drug store art notebook and had a fucking mechanical pencil with the clip broken off and eraser chewed up.

She instantly felt bad for her plan to ignore them, they were clearly a baby artist and she should at least try to encourage them. She didn’t really get a chance to look at them as their time started almost at the same time they sat down, so instead Catra focused on doing some contour drawing using the negative space from the shadows as her guideline. At one point she glanced over at the baby’s work and almost burst into inappropriate cackles. The poor bastard! They were very, obviously new and had not done a lot of practicing, so their work looked like a three year old did it. A bunch of wobbly lined potatoes. She managed to only grin and let one soft huff of air out through her nose instead of laughing. Baby artist indeed, but a brave ass baby! Took guts to come to one of these group sessions in the first place but to do it so early on was honestly impressive. That sort of chutzpah deserved encouragement.

They were doing their best, and that was legitimately awesome. Catra vowed to not be a dipstick and instead tell them it was nice to see a new face to try and get them to show up again.

They wrapped up and when Catra turned around, it was over. Her head was empty.

The OG Model Goddess herself was squinting at her page, tongue poking between her teeth and lips in concentration as she tried to put the last few touches on her sketch. It was mostly a janky line and a few boxes and lopsided circles but still a good place to start.

It was just.

It was  _ her _ .

Oh my god. (Oh no.) Holy shit!

The woman had her hair up in a ponytail so tight that Catra’s head ached in sympathy, she had a bulky denim vest on and a pair of adidas running pants plus cheap pink flip flops. As if she didn’t scream gay enough, the vest had several patches of rainbows and lesbian flags. From this angle, Catra could see a pin with two women facing each other reading “Lez be friends”. She was going to fucking die. What the actual fuck?

As if sensing Catra’s compulsive staring, the woman looked up cautiously and caught her eyes.

They both stayed stock still, totally silent as everyone else packed up, and Catra only blushed worse noticing that OG Goddess was blushing too.

What the fuck!?

God, say something!

“Hey princess.” NOT THAT.

The woman giggled. “Really? You’re going to stick with princess?”

Of course, Catra had spoken about 15 seconds with her and already offended her. “Well, with that attitude I am.”

“Nice.” The woman rolled her eyes then stared at her sketchbook in mortification before snapping it shut. “Haha...ha, anyWAYS, I, uh, never caught your name?”

These were the very questions she’d feared so much. She wasn’t ready. She would politely decline with only a mild fuck you and- “Catra.” Fucking god damn it!

“Good to officially meet you Catra,” the woman stretched as she stood, “well, guess I’ll see you next time?”

Was that hope in her voice?

“Yeah, probably.”

She took regular city streets homes in an attempt to cool off before getting to safety. It didn’t help. By the time two in the morning rolled around without a wink of sleep, Catra rolled out of bed to look at her older sketches of the woman. Blearily, in a box to the side of the page, she sketched, then lined a new version of her in her disaster gay outfit and with her dorky grin. It was five in the morning and Catra no longer feared god as she offhandedly titled it ‘Princess Goddess’.

So it started like that. 

Every two weeks if Princess wasn’t modeling, she was in the audience doing her damndest to draw. While a few of the younger dudes tried to hit on her via insulting her work, Catra had a different plan. She busted out her cheap old easel from back when she thought oils would be her medium, got some new charcoal and a blender, and bought two new kneaded erasers. One of which she left on Princess’s seat to replace the sad, sad eaten one and she kept the second one for herself because she’d managed to lose her previous one...again. (Why was it always the fun erasers that she lost?) Then she worked slowly, leaned back further than she normally did to give Princess the best view, really worked from the ground up for proportions and basic anatomy. Simple shapes with no short cuts.

She still almost squealed when she caught the woman looking between the model and Catra’s own drawings. Slowly and haltingly trying to copy what she was seeing from them both.

It made her feel like she was an actual fucking artist, like an old master teaching their young pupil, who they may or may not be banging on the side. So what if all her drawings looked like Princess Goddess? Fuck off, it’s not your business! Anyways, here she is as an angel and several homoerotic saints.  _ Don’t _ read into it.

As the months went by and their conversations stayed short and to the point, Catra began to relax more around her.

Big fucking mistake.

“I see you and Adora have hit it off,” Alder chuckled heartily, as if they were all in on some joke.

Catra squinted at him in confusion as she packed up. “Who?”

And that _fucking stupid laugh_! WHY was that so endearing!? “M-me! What? Did, did you forget?”

“No. Shut up!” Catra growled as  **Adora’s** name bounced around her head. Oh no, this was so much worse. This was intimate. Oh god. Oh no. Oh fuck!

“Oh my god! Did you seriously not know my name?” Adora continued, already packed up because closing a sketchbook and pocketing her pencil was all the clean up she needed while Catra was still waiting for her last application of fixative to dry. “They literally say it every time I’m up there.”

“Do they?” She asked as dismissively as she could while blushing and trying to phase through the floor into hell’s warm, toasty embrace. “Never noticed.”

Alder laughed again, “That’s our Catra alright, quick as a whip! Don’t let her fool you though, she’s a very sweet girl.”

“EXCUSE YOU!?” Catra shrieked.

“She’s been coming here for, goodness what would it be, almost thirteen years now-”

“Mr. Al-Jamil, all due respect, shut the  _ fuck _ up!”

“And let me tell you, I fell for it for a while.” Alder said, smiling as if he had not actually just ripped out Catra’s heart because despite the way she was, she didn’t want people to actually think she was  _ that _ cold and bitchy even if she also kinda did. “But she’s one of the kindest people I know, and can do just about anything she puts her mind to.”

Fuck it. Catra snapped her pad shut no longer caring about the spray as she struggled to pack up quickly. God, was this what teens bitched about? Parents being obnoxious? This was the worst! Did she want her crush to hear about some fluffed up version of her that didn’t exist? Yes. Did she want to be here to deal with someone complimenting her? Fuck no!

“I’m leaving.” She hissed, fumbling her supplies in her haste to leave.

“Tell my daughter I say hello, and that she needs to come home sometime!” Alder cackled, slapping her back before going to be schmoopily nice to someone else no doubt. The  _ fiend _ . For a half second she considered  _ not _ telling Perfuma shit, because Perfuma was dating Scorpia who knew about Princess Goddess ( **ADORA** ) and would rat her out.

Adora caught her easel as it slipped from under her arm. “Uh, let me help you with that?”

No seriously, if someone would kill her that would be nice. She snarled, “I’ve got it!” You know, like an asshat.

“...I mean, if you’re sure…” Oh no, was that disappointment? She wasn’t making that up right? That sounded disappointed?

“Whatever,” Catra huffed and walked to her car, leaving Adora holding her easel and hoping she’d get it. Honestly it was a cheap easel but she did not feel like buying another one on her minimum wage paycheck, aka going into credit card debt.

There was a few seconds before she heard Adora’s heavy footsteps jogging after her. She unlocked her shitty little festiva and put everything in the backseat. During which she built up the energy and courage to say, “Thanks. For helping.”

“Sure!” Adora was a puppy. A giant goddess puppy. “I mean! You’re welcome Catra.”

There was a hot second where Adora just, like, smiled at her. Teeth and all and looked a little flushed but also totally enraptured and Catra was both soaking it up and pretty sure you could light a cigarette using her cheeks right now. Why was she such a disaster with her crushes? Fucking, really?!?!

“Uhm, w-where are you parked? I can, uh, give you a lift.” For fucks sake. Really? Really???  _ Oh let me give you a ride to your car that’s probably less than a minute walking distance away, I promise I’m not a serial killer xoxo. _ God. Damn it!

Adora laughed nervously, scuffing her shoe a little. “Oh, don’t worry, I, uh, I take the bus.”

She did manage to stop herself before offering a ride  **to the bus stop** because if she had then she would be legally obligated to drive her car off the interstate’s highest bridge. “Oh man, yeah, don’t miss that. Which line?”

Adora muttered something nervously, but must have noticed Catra’s confusion as she repeated louder, “T-the Moon Line.”

**_HOLY FUCKING WHAT!?_ **

“...dude, what the actual fuck are you doing modeling?” 

The Moon Line was the official name for what the 99% called the Princess Carriage, a bus line that went to the richest and most affluent neighborhood probably on the continent (yes, continent, not country, that fucking loaded). And here Catra was, offering a princess a ride in her festiva that failed emissions and had expired tags with the hood painted bright green to replace the original red one after she’d been in a crash. It was easier to ask why someone who was not only loaded but probably needed to think about her public image was literally doing baring herself to the public than it was to try and navigate the minefield of apologies that she wasn’t going to make anyways.

“Ha, well,” Adora rubbed at the back of her neck, “I was somewhat recently informed that I’m...pretty, uhm, f-fit? And I kind of need the cash so...easy money for sitting around for an hour tops. Besides it keeps me honest at the gym.”

There were so many awkward layers to that awkward cake made from 100% organic free range awkward flour that Catra wasn’t going to touch it with a ten foot pole let alone admit that she wasn’t a vegan who detested the existence of local eggs and honey like a literal princess probably was. Like, terrorist levels of uncaring veganism was hot shit to the elite still right? Was she really considering faking being a rabid vegan in the name of impressing Adora? Shut up. Maybe.

THE POINT WAS- Adora might need spending cash but she was a  _ princess _ .

Damn, Catra had been  _ seriously _ barking up the wrong tree.

“Sure,” she said a bit more dismissively than she’d meant to but oh well, “but, y’know, ride still stands if you’d like. Probably faster than the bus.”

Adora smiled at her so soft and sweet that Catra almost exploded. Without warning she found herself wrapped up in those amazing arms and smelling cinnamon and clover, and she was dead. This was it. She’d died. Why did Adora smell like an apple pie? What the actual fuck that was unfair! ...shit, had she showered that morning?

“Thank you, I really appreciate that!”

And that’s how Catra found herself driving with Princess Goddess herself towards the royal row in Brightmoon. In the most awkward silence she’d ever been in. Adora motioned towards the radio and Catra nodded. At least one of them was trying to make the situation nicer.

_ I will find a way and I will have you. _

_ Like a butterfly, _

_ A wild butterfly. _

_ I will collect you and capture you. _

Wait...that was really familiar. What song was this? OH NO!

_ You are an obsession, _

_ You are my obsession! _

_ Who do you want me to be? _

_ To make you sleep with me? _

_ You are an obsession, _

_ You are my obsession! _

_ Who do you want me to be? _

_ To make you sleep with me? _

Ah. Fan-fucking-tastic. Great. Perfect. Why not.

Catra managed to make 0.3 seconds of eye contact with Adora in the rear view mirror before they both blushed and locked their gaze back onto the road.

Oh no. She couldn’t even crash the car without risking Princess Goddess, whom the world obviously needed.

_ I feed you I drink you _

_ My day and my night _

_ I need you I need you _

_ By sun or candlelight _

_ You protest; you want to leave _

_ Stay, oh, (there’s no alternative) there’s no alternative _

FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK! Was this song always this rape-tastic???? She was actively considering yanking the radio face off and just spacing it out her window when Adora started to bob her head along to the beat. Tapping her fingers in the most subdued air drums.

Okay! Salvageable! So like a moron Catra half assed singing along and hoped that it would be endearing and not, you know, disturbing.

_ Your face appears again _

_ I see the beauty there _

Adora excitedly joined in, just barely off key in the most beautiful voice Catra had ever heard in her life full stop.

_ But I see danger _

_ Stranger beware _

Adora shot off a pair of finger guns at her, so Catra made it a point to actually make eye contact at the red light.

_ Of circumstance in your  _ **_naked_ ** _ dreams _

_ Your affection is not what it seems _

And then they shared a brain wave. Catra could feel it, instantly knew what Adora wanted and knew she knew what Catra wanted too. Nice. So, like they were carefree high schoolers, they both began to scream sing along and dance at the light.

_ YOU ARE AN OBSESSION _

_ YOU’RE MY OBSESSION _

_ WHO DO YOU WANT ME TO BE _

_ TO MAKE YOU SLEEP WITH ME? _

Someone honked at them, and Catra flipped them off even as she drove off still dancing to the best of her abilities while driving.

_ My fantasy has turned to  _

_ Madness _

_ And all my goodness _

_ Has turned to badness _

_ My need to possess you has consumed by soul _

_ My life is trembling; I HAVE NO CONTROL _

Catra, like an idiot, started in on the chorus but Adora actually seemed to know the song and instead started singing directly to her flushed face and racing heart.

_ I will have you _

_ Yes, I will have you _

_ I will find a way and I will have you _

_ Like a butterfly _

_ A wild butterfly _

_ I will collect you and capture you _

At that point Catra got too flustered to keep singing and instead suffered as Adora burst into laughter, one finger poking at her cheek to tease her as Catra finally turned them onto royal row. Her threat was half assed at best, “I  **will** blast ‘I love little girls’ if you don’t stop touching me.”

This, however, only meant that Adora began singing over the radio while even less in tune. “DO YOU LIKE TO ROMP AND PLAY BY YOURSELF WHEN THEY’RE AWAY? NASTY AFFAIR! WHAT DO I CARE?”

“OH MY GOD,” Catra howled with laughter, unable to join in as Adora serenaded her with Nasty Habits instead. “Holy shit! Alright, you aren’t actually a princess are you? Who are you and where is Princess Goddess?”

Because, you know, she hadn’t ruined her life and chances in the last twenty minutes, which was basically a personal record, so, might as well start getting on that.

“Princess Goddess?” Adora asked, head tilting in confusion before the  **smuggest** look took over her **stupid** face. “Are you telling me you didn’t know my name because you called me-”

“ANYWAYS WHERE DO YOU LIVE?!” Catra screamed to try and cut her off.

“Nu-uh! I want to know-”

“I WILL THROW YOU OUT RIGHT NOW!”

Adora fake pouted but couldn’t keep it up for long, snorting with mirth before she asked, “Was it the physique or the hair? It looks better down I think.”

“Go fuck yourself  _ Adora _ . And you’re hair looks good any way, shut the fuck up!”

“I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t say anything-”

Catra stopped the car. “Okay. Get out.”

“Nooooo, Catra! I’ll stop! I’ll be quiet! I promise!” Adora clutched at her seatbelt and made the biggest doe eyes she could.

“You think that’s gonna work? Newshole assflash, I work in retail and am dead inside. Out.”

“Noooooooooooooooooo,” Adora melted in her seat trying to look small and pathetic when really it was just fucking hilarious watching her fold into the limited space. “Pleeeeease Catra, take me home!”

Immovable force, meet unstoppable object.

Okay, fuck, not really. Not like they didn’t both know that Catra was going to cave like the weak sapphic bitch she is. 

There was a series of increasingly unintelligible hand signs between them before Catra decided that she’d accept it as Adora apologizing and offering to take her on a date, before she finally started driving again. “No, but seriously, where do you live?”

“With my bffs.” Adora said, and after a beat turned as red as her hoodie. “Shit, you meant- sorry! Uh, 80085 Moon Stone.”

Catra snorted. “Boobs, nice!”

“Thank you!” Adora wiggled to get upright in her tiny cramped seat, and was successful after whacking her knees with a satisfying crunch into the glovebox. Serves her right. “Glimmer and Bow  _ insisted _ that I was being immature-”

“Oh, you were.”

“-but I called it!” And to prove it, Adora stuck her tongue out.

Flushed red and tongue out, teasing her and rumpled from her theatrics, Adora looked like a mess. Her hair was frizzed up a little and falling out of her hair tie and her blush was patchy and uneven. Her forehead shone with extra oil and her lips were chapped. Hell, this close under the streetlights, Catra could even see a small patch of zits at the corner of her mouth. 

She was, hands down, the most beautiful person on the whole planet.

Catra didn’t even notice her own soft smile until way too fucking late, and by that she meant when she noticed Adora staring at her mouth. She had to be made of pure electrical energy at this point. All her senses went into overdrive and she flicked her eyes down to Adora’s lips, and for the first time ever actually let herself imagine kissing her. When Adora’s eyes went huge and she sharply turned to look out the windshield, some sweat clearly building on her face even though they were already in fall...well…

Okay. Hear her out. Crazy fucking thought. But what if Adora, like, liked her? Even a little bit! How fucking awesome would that be?

Catra shifted back into gear and drove to the boobs house with a smirk firmly in place. Not even this shitty radio ad with it’s weird use of a bad Irish accent could kill her happiness. (No seriously, what did leprechauns have to do with renting tractors? It wasn’t even March.) If nothing else, literally if nothing else, she’d just had fun singing with Adora. In her car. And got to see her, like, up close. Being cute. Being sweet. Just, being her. And that theydies and gentlethem, was what you call a win.

She parked at the curb, and turned in her seat to smile (it wasn’t dopily okay, she doesn’t do dopey alright, she’s not a total loser OKAY!?), with one arm propped on her seat to rest her chin on her fist.

“So,” she started, only grinning wider when Adora’s ears turned bright red, “this...was fun. If you, you know, ever want a ride again...let me know?”

Adora’s head snapped up and they finally locked eyes again. After a beat of surprise Adora’s smile was brighter than the sun. “I could always use a ride, but only if you let me pay for gas.”

“Princess,” Catra tried to sound sultry but probably just sounded stupid, “you live at Brightmoon Boobs, you will  _ definitely _ pay for gas.”

Adora cackled, wiping at her eyes as she struggled to get a hold of herself. “Aw, you like me.”

“I cannot confirm nor deny any accusations at this time. My lawyer will be in touch. Now get out of my car.” Because she’d hit her limit for smooth and suave apparently.

Luckily for them, Aodra had not. 

She reached forward and pulled Catra in by her jacket collar, and kissed her. And even though the shift stick was jammed into her side, even though Catra was worried she tasted bad because she decided not to brush her teeth last night, even though she’d been nothing but alternatingly mean and awkward, somehow this was still happening to her.

It didn’t last long, there wasn’t any tongue, but Catra was blissfully aware that no other kiss would ever be as good as that one was.

“T-thanks again,” Adora chuckled awkwardly, shooting off more set of finger guns as she stumbled out of the car and practically ran up to the front door. The open front door?

Oh shit.

“YES GIRL GET SOME!” Was all Catra heard a rich stranger yell loud enough to wake the city, and she quickly got going just in case a neighbor didn’t know what to do with someone like Catra (poor, definitely not white, queer) lurking around and called the cops. She was not looking to get shot thanks. And for the first few minutes of the drive, Catra was just riding the high.

She...Catra grinned, manically drumming on the ceiling along to whatever 80’s synth pop had come on the radio at the next stop light. She was going to see Adora in two weeks. And they’d kissed. And they might do it again some time.

She was officially a figure artist. For life.

“Scorpia,” she half shouted as she hauled her gear into the apartment, “I need to start working out again!”

Because Catra wasn’t a slouch, hilariously she’d nearly been a meat head jock in high school. She’d been on several school teams and decimated anyone who dared fuck around with her at track and field. High jump all star. Despite how short she was, Catra  _ had _ gotten within an inch of qualifying for the olympics before she’d fucked up her knee playing ultimate frisbee and fallen out of exercising basically all together. Now, she had a  **very** good reason to finally learn how to use a rowing machine or some other low impact shit.

Maybe she’d even see Adora at the gym? In gym clothes? Working out and sweating a lot?

Shut up, so what if she was thirsty? It was Princess Goddess Adora, she was allowed!

“Oh my gosh you got the girl!!!!” Scorpia cheered, somehow reading between the lines and scooping Catra up into a truly crushing hug.

“MY SKETCH BOOK!”

“Sorry!”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me over on [my tumblr](nny11writes.tumblr.com), prompts are always open!


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